


to Love a Lamprey

by Insecuriosity



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Post-Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight), Reincarnation, Temporary Blindness, a wyrm grub, the Pale King reincarnates as a grub, wyrms are huge so even a baby is large for bug standards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22404604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity/pseuds/Insecuriosity
Summary: When Hallownest wakes up again, the Pale King finds that things have not gone the way he expected them to. Someone has killed his previous incarnation, and he is stuck in the body of a baby wyrm - hungry and blind.(In which the Pale King learns what it means to have a caring parent, and how much damage it can do when you do not.)
Comments: 83
Kudos: 282





	1. The awakening

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Not Too Late For Second Chances](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21475696) by [ruthlesslistener](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthlesslistener/pseuds/ruthlesslistener). 



> The name of the Pale King in this fic is Zazt'vha, and he will refer to himself as such.

The Palace was as it had always been. A quiet place, nearly sterile in its beauty, with only the everlasting whine of saws to fill the emptiness. Only those with enough focus and soul could hear the subtle music that played underneath, the melody that danced on the hum of the blades.  
Footsteps sounded down the hall, disturbing both the monotone of the song and years of dust. A vessel had managed to find its way to the throne room, and the king still sitting on his throne.

It walked closer and paused at a short distance, tilting its head as if to ask something.

The King did not move. He was slumped slightly to the right, as if he had just dozed off and was just waiting for an advisor to cough politely to alert him again.

The vessel moved closer and stared into the dark holes in the King’s mask. Almost accusingly, if one knew what to look for.

A moment passed. A moment more. The vessel whipped out its nail and striking the King, right under his mask – where the connection between head and thorax was thinnest. The nail bit deep, and bits of chitin scattered across the pristine floor of the castle. Still, the King did not move.  
The vessel struck again, catching the King across the chest and cutting the elegant silk cloak that he wore. The third strike caught the side of the king’s mask, and finally the King moved.

Like a sack of rocks, his limp body tumbled off the throne, his belongings rolling out from under his cloak. The vessel paused, and put its nail back under its cloak. Its black little legs kicked carelessly through the items that had dropped from the King’s cloak, until it found something that it deemed worthy. The little piece of white disappeared under the vessel’s cloak, and without a single glance backwards, it left the throne room.  
Moments, perhaps minutes later, the King’s syrupy blood started to well from his wounds – pooling under him and staining his cloak a ruddy brown. His breath hitched, slow enough to be unnoticeable without a mirror and patience, and began to grind to a halt.

Deep in stasis, sleeping like his beloved Kingdom, Zazt'vha did not feel himself die. Even if he had, to a being like him, death was simply a temporary state of being. Something that would pass, whether he shaped his next body or not.

-

Hollow had never expected that they would once be freed from the Black Egg.

They had hoped that someone better, someone purer, could do the job that they had failed to accomplish – but they had assumed that it would come at the price of their life. It had even been a source of comfort, in those burning moments of suffering – it would be over soon, and they could cease to exist.  
But Ghost hadn’t killed them, Hornet had helped Ghost to drag Hollow up to the surface and dress their wounds and feed them broth. They had put Hollow in a bed and told them to rest as long as they wanted. Hollow had been thankful for it in the moment. Riding a high, finally, free from pain, pressure and fighting

It also freed up their time for thinking. A lot of thinking. Overthinking. Guilt for surviving, when all of Hallownest was dead. Guilt for disappointing their father – for not daring to show how flawed they were and letting them be culled so that a more deserving vessel could take their place. Uncertainty. Waking up each night from memories back in the egg, wrapped in chains and in pain pain pain.

Ghost had found their Father. Dead, or gone – just a shell left on a throne. Ghost hadn’t bothered to further investigate – in their eyes, the Pale King deserved to be forgotten and swallowed by nothingness, just like the Radiance. Hollow’s torso hurt just at the thought, and they didn’t know what was worse – their father being dead, or their father having simply abandoned them when he found out how badly Hollow had failed him?  
Hollow hoped that Ghost and Hornet would not be too upset to find out that they had gone out to see for themselves. Even if the castle was gone, like Ghost said it was, they needed to see it. They needed to find their father and -… and they weren’t sure what they would do after. They just knew that they needed to hear the Pale King’s voice and judgement.

They sluggishly made their way through the crossroads, and sat in the elevator that led down into the City of Tears. Even just the colour of the metal brought them back to the happiest time in their life – before being sealed in the Egg.  
The lift rattled when it came into motion, and Hollow felt the same mixture of dread and excitement they always felt when they was about to enter their father’s gaze. Soon.

-

Zazt’vha woke up cold, wet, and hungrier than he could ever remember being.

His eyelids were stuck together, and his entire body trembled as if he had been exerting himself for hours. He searched for his limbs, to try and push himself upright, but his body disobeyed him. Wings, legs, arms – all of them felt as if they had been tightly bound to his body. Had someone captured him? Instinctively, he bucked his body as he might have done were he still a wyrm, and he rolled across a bumpy cold floor. It smelled like old blood, void, and mold.  
He swallowed down the starting curls of panic. He should have known something like this would happen – his magic and power was a beacon for all kinds of creatures. Locking himself in the dreams of a flawed vessel and defending his roost with the sharpest blades hadn’t been enough.

He kept still on the ground and tried to test the binds around his limbs. Iron? Spidersilk? Plantfibre rope? He twisted himself, sucked in his carapace, expanded his carapace – but he couldn’t feel the bindings.  
He turned to his spells, letting razorsharp manifestations flash across his skin close enough that they would cut him with the slightest imprecision. He called forth his Wyrm-acid, ready to suffer the burns on his carapace if it could dissolve the things holding him captive, but it was impotent – falling on the ground without so much as a hiss.

He stopped to catch his breath – his body was already exhausted, and his eyes were showing him a kaleidoscope of colour behind his eyelids. What had been done to him? Who could have? Another God? Surely, they would have known better than to ever let him wake up once they’d caught him.  
He tried to listen to the world around him through his panting breaths. There was no voice, mental or physical, to laugh at his fruitless struggles, and by the way his gasps disappeared into nothingness he was not in a room or cage.

“Whoever you are, show yourself so we may speak as equals!” He demanded – only to find that his voice was gone. Instead, what came out of his mouth was juvenile clicking of a Wyrm hatchling.

There was only a split moment where he was frozen, before he shot into action. He twisted, curling his back in a way that would have broken a bug in two, and pressed his face against his middle back. It was his teeth that touched first – long and sharp already. He lashed his tail at the ground as hard as he could, and heard the wet slap of flesh against rock from at least a ballroom-length away.  
It was undeniable. He was a wyrm again, and judging by the softness of his body, the yawning hunger in him, his blindness, and his fatigue – he was a newborn. Zazt'vha shivered and began coiling his body into circles to try and conserve heat. He ran out of body-length after around four curls – a far cry from his sixty-seven curls as an adult. This certainly explained why his acid had been so impotent.

Who could have done this? What did they have to gain from killing his previous form, yet leaving his Essence untouched? Why had they simply left him here to wake up alone?

His stomach contracted painfully, and he winced. Food – he had to find food, and quickly. Ignoring his exhaustion, he slithered out of his coil, and started the arduous process of testing his surroundings through the only tools he had at his disposal - his teeth.  
Roots and rock caught between his teeth as he scanned his head back and forth over the ground. He swallowed a few, if only to get rid of that hollow feeling in his stomach. They would digest eventually, once his acid grew more potent, but for now even the simple act of digging was locked from him.

Rocks. Rocks. More roots. Moss. Metal. All dead, devoid of even the slightest nutritional value. He tried to suppress his worries that he would find nothing. Surely every space, no matter how desolate, had some kind of sustenance?  
In previous incarnations, he hadn’t had to worry. He had never once died without explicitly meaning to. Had never died without the proper preparations in place. And at his original moment of birth, he had been surrounded by the juicy bodies of his clutch-mates for sustenance.

The memories of his first feeding frenzy made the yawning ache in his stomach grow worse. He had never quite tasted flesh that fresh and soft again. Even when he had grown big enough to pluck birds from the sky, their meat had not lived up to that of his first meal. As far as he knew, only Wyrms were born with no bones or chitin, just soft flesh.  
He intensified his search for food, until he had scoured every piece of floor and wall that he could reach without overworking his weak muscles. He had found nothing, and the pain in his stomach was getting to the point where he couldn’t stop from making pathetic little chirps every time a wave of hunger hit.

Still, there had to be food someplace around here. He just had to keep moving. He slithered further, following the shape of the cavern, down once… down once again -…. Until he found a ledge. He could hear the soft clicking and scuttling of life below, and his hunger almost had him sliding off the edge before he well and truly thought about it. Such a draw was the promise of food.  
It was icy cold down here, to the point where he could feel it in his teeth as if he were back in the icy mountains, nibbling at one of the white caps. He let himself dip a little lower down, looking for a ledge or ridge to land on – and then hear the undeniable whisper of the void brush past his face. He cringed back as if he had dunked his head into a fire, and threw himself into the other direction.

The Abyss. Someone had opened the door to the Abyss! Of all the times to discover that, he had to be as weak as a newborn, and blind to boot! He had almost thrown himself in, too occupied with his damned hunger! And the noises -… he could only hope they were not an ominous sign.  
He wriggled his way back to where he had come, and started to snake up against the wall in an attempt to climb back up. The muscles along his body begged him to stop as he had to reach higher and higher to find a foothold, and even his jaws were starting to hurt from all the biting and clinging they had to do.

After his third attempt at climbing had failed, and the void hadn’t yet crawled out to consume him, Zazt'vha gave up on going back the way he came. He tried to catch his breath as his body curled in on itself instinctively. What was he going to do now?  
He had no place to run to, save for the abyss – and there was nothing that could convince him it was a good idea to go down there. Even when he had had full reserves of Soul, the void had never once stopped trying to drag him in and smother his light. He wondered if his Lighthouse had been enough to keep that deadly sea from rising higher. Judging from the lack of soul being pulled downwards to power it, it had not been operative for quite a while.

He shivered in his coil. How much had the void risen? How close had he come to coming within reach of those flailing limbs? They were dreadfully silent – right up until you were in their reach. Was that what he had felt, hanging off that ledge like a mindless grub?  
He turned back to the wall and pressed his teeth against the rock, looking for where the earth was softest. Eating and digging were about the only things a wyrmgrub could do, and he couldn’t wait here. Already, he was on the edge of starvation – his body demanding the nutrients to start growing to the mythical size so typical of his species.

With a singleminded focus, Zazt'vha started chewing at the softest dirt he could find, making an angled little tunnel upwards. Bite, bite, wriggle to let the loosened dirt fall down. Scoot up a little, bite, drag a rock, bite bite-… if it weren’t for the hunger, it would have been meditative. The soothing grind of his teeth against rock, the ache of hard work in his jaws – it was reminiscent of simpler times, where all he had done was eat and dig. Eat and dig. Eat and dig. Eat and dig. Eat and-…

Trembling. Trembling in the ground.  
Zazt'vha froze right in the midst of pulling loose a rock too tough for his jaws. The ground around him trembled again, and he could _feel_ their origins through the dirt around him. Someone was walking along the path above him – large enough that each of their steps reverberated through the ground, and now that he had stopped digging, he could hear the tap-tap of bug feet impacting the stone as well.  
Slowly, he retracted his head from the start of his tunnel and listened for the footsteps. Whatever was approaching was big – big enough to be a threat to him in this state, but also big enough to fill his stomach for at least a couple of hours.

It was coming his way. Zazt'vha could not remember the last time he had attempted to hunt through ambush, or the last time something as simple as hunting had gotten his heart beating so loud. He reared his head and loosened the coil of his body, pressing himself as close to the wall as he could to prevent being seen.  
The footsteps stopped, and there was a soft rustling of fabric as the large bug jumped downwards. Their feet hit the ground at Zazt'vha’s right, and he lunged – sinking his teeth into icy, icy cold void.

There was no time to regret his attack. Whatever void-creature he had bitten reacted immediately, and Zazt'vha choked on his screech when a large clawed hand circled tight under the chitin of his jaws. He threw the entire length of his body into the battle, and wrapped himself tightly around the creature, squeezing as hard as he could.  
It was not enough. Slowly but steadily, the hand around his throat pulled him away from where he was biting until he was gnashing his teeth at empty air. He clenched the muscles in his body harder, but creatures of the void did not need to breathe, and the chitin was too hard to break.

_Let go. Let go of me now. Let go. Let go or I’ll crush you._ It was useless to try and fling his mind-magic at a creature that was void, but Zazt'vha had nothing else left to fight with. The void creature pulled him further away, and Zazt'vha gave up on trying to crush its body – instead moving himself to wrap around the arm of his assailant. _Let go now. Let go or you will regret it! Let go!_  
He squeezed and pulled, trying to tear off the arm that was holding him. He hissed and spat, summoning his acid and teeth. And finally, he could no longer keep his choke-hold on the creature’s arm. It still held him at an arm’s length – seemingly unbothered by his struggles. Zazt'vha’s throat hurt where the creature’s claws were holding him up.

_Let go. Let go..._ He was fairly sure his dominating demand had petered out to a weak suggestion at this point, but he still couldn’t find it in himself to stop projecting it. In what might be his last moments, he could freely admit to himself that the Void scared him. It was one of the reasons he had been so eager to chain it and turn it against others like him – it was the only place where every trace of a God could be erased. Where even memory couldn’t call them back.  
He had weaponized it, in part to acclimate himself to its presence. He refused to be cowed by something that had no mind or thoughts – refused to be afraid of shadows. He had killed Gods with it, and now he was to join them in the nothingness.

He kept fighting the grip of the Void creature. For all he knew, it had already brought him to the voidlake at the bottom of the Abyss, and was simply waiting for him to let go. If he wasn’t so sure that the void constructs were empty automatons, he would have thought this one was toying with him – aware of his blindness and letting him imagine the worst.

He wheezed in breath after breath, trying to ignore the icy chill coming from the construct, and stopped fighting.

The Construct must have been waiting for that, because it finally moved. Carefully it bent its arm, keeping its claws locked tight behind Zazt'vha’s jaws, and drew him in close. Zazt'vha shivered as the construct hugged him close to its icy body at an angle that prevented him from biting into it. Its thumb rubbed back and forth in a gesture that Zazt'vha could only interpret as an attempt to _soothe_ him.  
Then it started to walk, easily hopping up the ledges that Zazt'vha had been struggling to find. What in the realms was going on? What had the world turned into during his absence?

It walked through the city of tears – even going so far as to pull Zazt'vha’s head under its cloak to shield it from the water – and operated one of the mass lifts that ran between the Crossroads and the City. Hallownest was quiet, and everywhere they went Zazt'vha could smell undertones of rot, mold, death, and dust. Where were the bugs? Where were the sentries?  
He wriggled in the hold of the Construct, and the creature began rubbing its thumb behind his jaws again. Zazt'vha could not remember permitting such a flawed construct to remain functional – save for the one that he had tasked with capturing the last few moth-caterpillars, but that one had had a surplus of limbs. The construct carrying him only seemed to have one. Perhaps it had crawled out of the Abyss after the door had been unlocked – a malformed failure among failures.

The lift arrived, and the construct carried him through the Crossroads with ease – every step echoing down the tunnels. Zazt'vha remembered a time where people had constantly complained of the high traffic in the crossroads – and now it was so empty that he could hear his own heartbeat rushing in his ears.  
More climbing – all the way up to the surface – and the primal part of Zazt'vha’s body ached to go back to the safety of the underground where he could not be plucked off the ground by a bird. He certainly was small enough that even a shrike could kill him.

“-didn’t know that they were supposed to stay here.” A shaky voice said. “They looked well enough to me when they left. Oh- look, they’ve come back!”

“Hollow!” The second voice was sharp and authoritative, and rapidly approaching Zazt'vha and the Construct. Somewhat further off, Zazt'vha could hear the first bug retreating.

Hollow? What kind of name was that for a construct? Zazt'vha tensed when he felt ‘Hollow’ move, crouching down to the ground.

“Where were you! You were supposed to be resting, and now I find you were hunting for food?! Of all things-… You’re bleeding, aren’t you. If this has torn open your scars I WILL sew you to a bed, and not even Ghost will be able stop me!”

The Construct, of course, gave no answer. It shifted a little, and pulled Zazt'vha out from underneath its cloak – proudly presenting him to the unknown bug. Zazt'vha hissed weakly, and flung out his mind magic to this new bug. _I am not food! I am your king, and the cretin holding me is our enemy! Fight them, free me. Free me. Fight the Construct. Free your king._ To his despair, it bounced off them just as easily as it had with the construct.

The bug sighed. “…I don’t know what you are trying to say. Put that thing someplace and go back to bed, Ghost or I will take care of it!”

The Construct moved, assumedly communicating something with its body. It did not hand Zazt'vha over to the other bug, nor did it seem inclined to obey her.

“… What do I need to say to get you back to your sickbed? Thank you for catching us a meal at the risk of your own life? Sorry for underestimating your prowess, even in this weakened state? I was worried, and Ghost even more so! They nearly tore the village apart trying to find you, nearly assaulted a stranger-”

Zazt'vha flinched when the Construct moved its hand again, waggling him back and forth like a grub trying to show off its toy.

“Yes. You’ve caught a very big lamprey, I am very impressed, but you need to rest! You’re limping with your right leg, don’t think I didn’t catch that!”

A _LAMPREY_? Zazt'vha could barely find the energy to feel offended before the waggling intensified, and Zazt'vha was held so close to the unknown bug that he could smell the spider origins of their cloak.

The other bug sighed again, drawing it out to properly show her annoyance. “I can’t take it from you like this. Hold it still.”  
The bug drew her nail in a flash, and Zazt'vha felt a visceral shiver run down the entire length of his body when he heard it whizz through the air. Expertly sharpened.

The grip around Zazt'vha’s throat tightened like a vice, and his world blacked out for a moment. When he came back to consciousness, the Construct was holding him tightly against its cold chest while the other bug was talking to it. Zazt'vha’s body rippled sporadically around the construct – working to crush the threat on pure instinct from the moments he had blacked out.  
 _Let go… Let go…_ He could hear his own mental voice reflect back at him, as if all the other minds around him were mirrors, incapable of having a reflection of their own. At the very least his head was still attached to his body – he did not like to think about what these bugs might have done to him had be began reincarnating inside of their dinner stew.

The Construct dragged him inside – part of his tail having given up on fighting and dragging over the hard floor. It climbed onto something, and Zazt'vha came along for the ride. Scraps of soft silk, blades of thin grass, a collection of fluff. A nest. As good a place to die as any.  
The Construct put Zazt'vha’s head down into the fluffy nesting – and then let go. Zazt'vha didn’t even think about trying to bite it again, and instead used the bare remains of his energy to try and escape. He did not get far. The Construct grabbed him by the neck again, further bruising the sore spots behind his jaw, and put him back into the nest.

Zazt'vha debated trying to escape again. His body was already aching, but perhaps it was better to escape and find a safe place to die and reincarnate once more. Ascension was one of those things that were hard won, and easily lost. His next physical reincarnation would perhaps be even more pathetic than this one, but if he was safe enough to go and find food-…  
He was jolted out of his musings by a strong, herbal smell. Roasted mushroom, sprinkled with dried fallay leaves. Wyrm instinct proved stronger than his tired mind, and he was slithering towards the scent before he well and truly realized it.

The void construct was holding it, but at that moment Zazt'vha would have challenged the Radiance over a tin of old rice. He reached up, ignoring the burn in his muscles, and finally sank his teeth into some food.  
The next moments were a blur. There could not be enough food. Any pocket of empty space in his body had to be filled, and damn anything and anyone that stood in between him and a full stomach! The carefully roasted and spiced mushroom made way for hurriedly roasted mushroom, still raw in the centre, and it was quickly followed up by raw mushroom and welled oats that could not have gotten more than a couple of minutes to well in the water.

The food ran out, and Zazt'vha realized he had been hanging from the void construct’s arm for the entirety of his feeding frenzy. It no longer had its fingers around his neck, and had instead gathered a lengthy coil of Zazt'vha’s body that he held closely to its body. He could feel its mask pressing softly against the coils, and he drunkenly swiveled his head towards the mask to feel it out.  
His teeth clinked against the white chitin of a vessel, and a quick movement let him feel the shape of the mask. A very familiar shape. Only seconds later, the construct – his chosen one, his _Hollow Knight_ hurriedly drew away from his teeth.

_You?_ Zazt'vha gasped, but his words disappeared into the void without being heard.

The Hollow Knight grabbed hold of him – once again right behind the jaw, where his teeth could do nothing – and he was carried over to the nest, and tucked in between the scraps of fabric and straw. Zazt'vha was too baffled, too tired to care.

_My Knight. You. How are you here? This cannot be you, I’ve known you for your entire life, this cannot be you._ The Hollow Knight pat him softly on the back again, and softly pressed his head down onto the soft fabric of the nest. Zazt'vha was tired, his stomach was as close to full as it could get, and his skin was already starting to itch from his first molt. _What happened to your limbs? What happened to the Radiance, the stasis of Hallownest? My subjects? My old body? My Knight?_

The Hollow Knight did not hear him, and continued to softly pet him until Zazt'vha finally surrendered to sleep.

-

“You do realise that I can’t hear them any more than you can, right?” Quirrel said.

Hornet huffed as she led the way towards Hollow’s home. “Yes, I know that, but you have a far better track record when it comes to placating them. Or even just interacting without somehow making a terrible misstep.”

Dirtmouth still had many empty homes, but with Hollow’s stature, the only fitting building had been a storage silo. It had taken the better part of a day to scrounge up enough scraps of fabric and fluff to make them a bed, and it was still barely livable.  
Seeing as Hollow had been gravely wounded and prone to lying in their bed dejectedly for days on end, it hadn’t been a problem. But apparently Hollow had suddenly decided that they needed to explore the entirety of Hallownest before their last wounds scabbed over!

“I suppose I had nothing much better to do.” Quirrel mumbled as Hornet strode towards the door and knocked on it.

Hollow opened the door suspiciously, their body angled so that it was impossible to look at the room behind them.

“Hollow.” Hornet said by way of greeting.

“Hello, tall friend.” Quirrel said with a little wave. “Just tagging along by request.”

Hollow gave a small cordial nod in Quirrel’s direction, and then turned their unwavering glare back at Hornet. If she hadn’t already known that she had made a mistake, she would certainly have known it by the judging weight of Hollow’s empty eyes!

Hornet took a breath. “I came to apologise. I had trouble understanding why you would hunt something, only to bring it here alive. Honestly. I still do not understand, but I acknowledge it was a mistake, and that you evidently care very much for this creature.”

Hollow shifted slightly, and made a weird little move with their hand.

“… And I promise I will not attempt to kill it again.” Hornet finished. “I’ve brought Quirrel to see what kind of creature it is, so we can make it an appropriate pen and find it the right food. May I please come in and tend to your bandages?”

“Oh, is that why I’m here?” Quirrel mused. “Interesting, that is not exactly what I remember you saying earlier-...”

“Shh!”

Hollow said nothing, but their guarded posture had loosened during Hornet’s apology and they stepped aside to welcome them in. The lamprey had been put in Hollow’s bed, carefully covered in warm scraps of fluff. Judging from the amount of food between its teeth, it had eaten all of Hollow’s food reserves as well.  
It took all of Hornet’s willpower to ignore the tapeworm, but Quirrel had no such reservations. He stepped into the storage chamber, in the midst of retelling a very mundane day, and then stopped dead in his tracks.

“T-… Is that the Pale King?”

Hornet opened her mouth to answer, and decided that she must have misheard. “Excuse me?”

Quirrel was standing near the door, gaping at the leech that was curled up and sleeping on Hollow’s bed. “That’s our Majesty. The Pale king of Hallownest.”  
Hollow stood next to him, nodding enthusiastically.

Hornet looked closer at the creature. The pale grey colour, the glossy veneer, the teeth that ringed its front end like a crown-. A small and significantly less rotted copy of the enormous shell at Kingdom’s end.


	2. Pale plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pale King is back, and some serious discussion needs to take place. Zazt'vha wakes and begins work on restoring his power over Hallownest and its inhabitants. Hollow struggles.

Hollow sat near the bed, softly stroking their hand over the sleeping form of their father. Whenever their hand passed over the Pale King’s shell, he would shiver softly from the cold – but Hollow couldn’t stop. They had to reassure themselves that this was real, and that they had found their father alive and well near the Abyss. They might have failed at everything else, but at least their father had survived the infection, and that was enough for Hollow.   
It didn’t matter that the Pale King had been less than happy to see them. Hollow deserved a far harsher punishment for his failures anyway, but they couldn’t have left their father alone in the dark – he was small enough that a Mawlek or a garpede could eat him in only a couple of bites! 

So Hollow had brought him to Dirtmouth. There were bugs there, and his daughter Hornet, and a vessel that was superior to Hollow in every way that mattered. They had fully expected to hand over their father, and to then be judged for their failures – to be ‘put away’, euphemistically speaking. 

Except Hornet hadn’t recognized the Pale King. And then she had nearly killed him. And now…

“What is he doing here?!” Hornet didn’t look any happier, even now that she knew who the wyrm was. 

Hollow thought it was obvious. The Pale King – it was in the name! He was the King, and he was going to rule again. He simply needed some support. 

“Sleeping, it looks like.” Quirrel said, still staring at the bed. “And starting a molt, I believe. Or is that just the way wyrmskin is supposed to look…?”

Hollow wasn’t sure. They had never seen their father as a wyrm before, but his light was unmistakable – as was his crown of teeth. His shape hardly mattered, as long as he was alive. 

“Why did he… No, of course he would show up as soon as the battle has been fought and won. Back to reclaim Hallownest after letting it rot and die for realms knows how long!” Hornet bit out. 

“He has sure picked an unusual shape if that’s the case.” Quirrel murmured. “Wyrms get… really quite big. I can’t imagine he would fit into Hallownest once he grows bigger. Not without destroying it at least.” 

“Why else would he turn up here?” Hornet scoffed. “Perhaps he only created Hallownest so he could fatten himself on its bug – at this point, I wouldn’t put it past him. Perhaps he intended to abandon his mess, but couldn’t quite get his own reincarnation done right!”

The Pale King stirred under Hollow’s hand and Hollow pantomimed a stern ‘shush’ before gesturing back at their father. 

“He had better explain himself before I-… What are you gesturing for?”

“I think Hollow simply doesn’t want you to wake our King up.” Quirrel stepped a little closer, one hand on his mask as he looked closer at the Pale King. “… I’d heard rumours of wyrms being capable of reincarnation… Never expected it to look like this though. Was our King a child when he took his previous form as well?”

“Speak for yourself, he is not my King. Never will be, and never was.” Hornet replied. 

“Ah, that is right. You hailed from… Deepnest? Yes. Deepnest.” Quirrel said softly, more to himself than to Hornet. 

“Even if I wasn’t from Deepnest I wouldn’t call him a King. If anyone is a King these days, it is Ghost They have more than claimed that position in my eyes.” Hornet said. She stepped closer to Hollow’s bed. “But I still want to know what this worm has to say for himself.”

“More than fair.” Quirrel nodded. “To both accounts.”

Hollow put themselves in between Hornet and the coiled bulk of their father. He had brought the King here to be taken care of, the way that Hollow himself had been taken care of – not for him to be harassed!

Hornet sighed. “Hollow. He doesn’t need-…He doesn’t _deserve_ to be coddled. You’re more in need of a rest than he is! He has had all the time to sleep, wherever he has been for all this time. If he wants to stay here, then he might as well start making himself useful and fix his own mess! Starting with THAT!” She jabbed a finger at the cupboards, and the devastated remains of Hollow’s provisions scattered around them. 

Hornet couldn’t be more wrong. The Pale King was a God – Gods didn’t make mistakes, and Gods were entitled to more rest than those below them. Hollow squared their shoulders, and shook their head, slowly and resolutely. They were not going to wake up the Pale King. 

Hornet’s eyes narrowed. “How can you care for him like this? After everything he has done, I’d imagined you would be furious!”

Hollow narrowed their eyes right back, despite knowing that she wouldn’t be able to see it. They were flawed as a vessel, but they could never fall to that level of imperfection. They wouldn’t allow themselves to. If the King would let them, they would work on becoming his perfect vessel again, and if not… They would return to the Abyss. Where they belonged. 

Hornet was still staring at their face, as if Hollow’s thoughts could be read through his mask. “…Can you even see that what he did was wrong?” 

Hollow wished they could talk, so they could explain everything to Hornet, but they would have to settle with gestures instead. They lifted their head proudly, and put their sole hand on top of their father’s resting body. The Pale King had done _nothing_ wrong, and Hollow would die before they would let anyone hurt him. 

Hornet was quiet for a moment, and Hollow wondered if she was still going to try and wake him, but she turned away before he could finish his thought. “Fine. Fine! Let him sleep, let him stay, let him take back his broken ruin of a Kingdom! What should I care – Hallownest was never my responsibility to begin with!”

Hollow couldn’t help but wince at the reminder of their failure, and they shot a glance at their sleeping father. How angry would he be, once he saw the extent of Hollow’s failures?

“You were its protector for quite a while, though.” Quirrel said. “And while Ghost is a fearsome warrior, I am not so sure they will be able to settle this matter without some help.”

Hornet paused and looked back at Hollow. Her gaze stuck to the Pale King as well. “… Mm. I can see what you mean.” 

Hollow felt as if they were missing something. Why wouldn’t Ghost be able to settle this? Surely, they wanted their father safe as much as Hollow did. They were Hollow’s direct replacement – the better vessel. Hollow had assumed that they would simply take their place at father’s side, until Hollow could prove themselves good enough to be in their father’s presence again – if they were even granted that opportunity.

“I’ll head down, see if I can find them.”

“We could simply ask the Stag to let Ghost know that Hollow is back in Dirtmouth – I’m fairly certain Ghost uses the stagways.” Quirrel offered. “It would be much quicker.’

“Do as you like. I’m heading down below regardless. We’re running short on food.” Hornet’s gaze slid over to Hollow’s destroyed pantry and the empty cupboards, before she turned her commanding glare on Hollow. “ _You_ are not to trek off into Hallownest unannounced again. If you need something, you make it known to somebug else and let them take care of it. I don’t care who it is! Do you understand me?” 

Hollow met her eyes, and nodded slowly. Yes, they would stay put – for as long as their father didn’t need them to do anything else. 

“Good.” Hornet turned and marched towards the door. She picked up her needle from where it had been resting against the doorframe, and was gone.

Quirrel let out a sigh. “… I suppose I will go talk to the Stag. Perhaps next time, you should leave a note of some kind? I know you may not be able to write, but I’ve seen Ghost’s drawings – you could scratch something in the dirt.”

Hollow pretended as if they were considering it by tilting their head, but they doubted it would be necessary. 

“Good day Hollow! I’ll see you in a bit.”

Hollow waited until Quirrel had left, and then turned back to the bed where the King was curled up. They carefully brushed over a part of his body, the same way they had seen the Queen do when the King had been tired and frustrated after a long day of work. Bits of hard chitin flaked off from where he touched, and underneath the King’s pale glow shone just a little bit brighter. 

-

Zazt’vha woke up cranky, itchy, dizzy, and hungry. There was a cold spot against his side that was sucking all of the heat from his body, and he couldn’t seem to open his eyes. His blankets were tightly wrapped around him, and he had lost his pillow somewhere in the mess of fabric and roots. He cringed away from the cold presence, and moved to throw his legs off the bed. Only, his limbs weren’t responding like they should have been, and he fell out of the bed onto the cold floor like a drunken grub.   
A moment later, there was a hurried shuffle of fabric and chitin, before an icy hand carefully picked him up and deposited him back into the bed, wrapping him right back up in a blanket. A blanket that smelled like old dust, mold, and his own shell-flakes – a far cry from the fine linen he was used to. 

“Root? What-…” He murmured, and he heard his own voice as the weak croon of a hatchling. 

Ah. Of course. He wasn’t in his palace anymore – he had reincarnated. Unplanned, unguided, stuck in the body of a hatchling. He remembered now. His Vessel, somehow free, had lugged him up to the surface to show him to a spide-borne bug whose mind he hadn’t been able to reach. He had nearly died to her nail, and then he had spent the last of his energy on gorging himself and entering a molt. 

Zazt’vha took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Calm. He was calm. He was alive, he had rested, and he was one molt closer to opening his eyes - he was fine. He just had to find a way to communicate, and start in on gathering information on what had happened in his absence.   
He crawled out of the bed, (on purpose this time) and hissed irritably when the vessel tried to lift him back in. There was no sign that it understood his desire to leave, and it tucked him back into the pile of scrap fabric. 

He crawled out again, and this time, when the dreaded cold hand came down to lift him back in – he reared up and struck. It was a bluff-strike more than anything and his teeth didn’t even connect, but the Vessel hurriedly shuffled back regardless, and Zazt’vha was not lifted back in. 

Zazt’vha kept his upper half drawn up and angled his head in what he hoped was a proud, regal manner. As he stared down his creation, he moved the lower end of his body all the way out of the nest, flicking his tail end to send the blankets flying. There. That had better have communicated his thoughts on sleeping during this crisis!   
He let himself back down, and when he began moving again, he was not picked up. A couple of moments later, he could hear a set of feet following him, just as he had taught his constructs to do. Good. At the very least it wasn’t _that_ defective. As long as it could still follow orders, it would be an immeasurably useful tool. He just had to find some way to give it orders. Or rather, some _one_. 

Zazt’vha listened. Judging from the silence, there were no other bugs in the house – or even on the streets. There was only the sound of the wind, howling like it only did near the cliffs of Hallownest, and the soft shifting of the vessel. He continued on his way, letting his body brush the stone walls as he hunted for the exit. 

Still, there had to be more bugs than just that dangerous spiderling here. He just had to find one and adjust it until it properly understood and obeyed him. It would be far less efficient than giving orders directly, but if he stood any chance at keeping Hallownest under his control it had to be done. To think that he had gone through all the trouble to keep royal retainers with him in the Palace, only to find them gone in the unlikely moment that he actually had need of them!  
He paused – air was blowing in through a small slit running along the floor. The door! He rolled and poked a couple of his teeth through the gap in the door to carefully test its strength. Steel. No way he was chewing through that! Baby wyrm teeth were wickedly sharp, but not at all fit for rigorous digging, and Zazt’vha didn’t want to end up losing a tooth even if it would grow back! 

He reared up, and slid his body against the surface of the door in search for the handle. The vessel stood by quietly, the only sign of its presence coming from the coldness they were radiating. When the underdeveloped muscles in his belly started to ache, Zazt’vha let himself drop back to the ground. Majestic. A king incapable of opening a simple door. That would surely inspire the bugs of Hallownest to follow in his wake! Hah!  
He grumbled at the edge of the door, testing the wall with his teeth as he thought. Perhaps he should search for windows – those shouldn’t be too hard to open surely, even with teeth as his only tools. But he already felt a cramp starting in his belly muscles, and it would undoubtedly take many attempts to find a window without his sight-…

A sudden creak startled Zazt’vha out of his thoughts, and a moment later he was treated to a facefull of grit and dust. The cold presence of the construct was leaning over him, and when Zazt’vha reached forwards, he found that the door was open – the vessel holding it open for him.   
Zazt’vha instinctively tried to look at the Vessel. It shouldn’t have been able to do something like that on its own power. It was impossible, baffling, _worrying_ and-…! And not relevant. Not right now. Zazt’vha took another deep breath, carefully put the event away to be looked at later, and started on his journey – doing his best to ignore the faulty (dangerous, unpredictable, primal enemy!) construct as it held open the door for him. It hadn’t consumed him yet. It wouldn’t do so now. 

The vessel had taken him to a village of some sort. Someone had taken the care to pave the roads in between the homes, but Zazt’vha could barely move a few feet without encountering weeds and grass. It took effort not to think about all the possible reasons as to why it was all so abandoned and empty, but Zazt’vha managed it. He winded around the homes, and brushed his body against any sharp edge he could find to remove the last blasted bits of his old skin as he went. The vessel stayed behind for a while, only following once Zazt’vha’s tail had crossed the doorway.   
They moved in silence. Zazt’vha instinctively winding and skimming the ground for food as he went, and his vessel walking a respectful distance behind his head on the right side, as Zazt’vha had taught it to. 

It was slowgoing. Painfully so, but thankfully it did not take too long before Zazt’vha could hear someone’s voice. A gruff and deep voice, muttering to someone – or complaining under their breath. He changed course, heading towards the unknown bug. 

“…- terrible monster. Who do they think they are to try and beat _me_! The great Zote!” The bug grumbled. “They should have known better than to anger me – next time I see them I’ll show them just how deadly Life-Ender really is!” 

Zazt’vha hesitated. Oh. That didn’t sound good. From his hearing he had no way to tell if this bug was a threat or not. In the realm of minds only the power of another God could hope to hurt Zazt’vha, but it took time to erode a bug’s personality and make them a suitable retainer. If this ‘Zote’ lashed out during the process, it could get ugly – and he couldn’t yet command the Vessel to do what he wanted!   
The grumbling voice came closer, and Zazt’vha threw himself in the direction of the Vessel, hurriedly wrapping himself around the construct. It was faster than he was, and it would protect itself if attacked – and it had proven itself to be at least somewhat loyal to him. The Construct held still – an icy statue. 

“It’s inexcusable, this dirty hovel, and the way they treat heroes. I sh-…WHOA!” The grumbling stopped, only a couple of paces away from where Zazt’vha and the Vessel were. 

“Oh, it’s just you.” The bug said, speaking as if he were talking to a bothersome spot of dirt on his clothing. “Made it back out there after all huh? I didn’t think you would – you look like I could break you in half with just a look! Though I think you picked up some kind of… weird parasite. Typical. Keep it away from me if you don’t want me to cut you down!”

Silence. There was no sound of a nail being drawn, or even feet making some distance. Did this bug expect some kind of response from the Vessel? Did he think he could defeat the Vessel? The bug didn’t sound very large at all, or fast for that matter. Zazt’vha carefully flung a little strand of magic towards ‘Zote’s’ mind. It met no resistance – whatever school of fighting this bug followed, it did not include meditation and mental fortification.   
Zazt’vha pried deeper, and oh, what a perfect mind it was. Here was a bug that hadn’t honed his critical thinking and self-reflection. It only took a sliver of his soul to usurp him – pushing Zote all the way to the back of his own head and shutting him up. 

He rumbled with his success and withdrew back to into his own mind, leaving a cluster of his magic in the bugs mind with open channel that fed back to him. Now. Time to take back control over his kingdom!

 _Order the vessel to take me to someone that can explain what has happened in my absence,_

And Zote did exactly that. 

-

Hollow was back to where they had been. Back to what felt like a thousand years ago, where they belonged: At their father’s beck and call. 

And it was undeniably their father, there was no more doubt about that. When Hollow had found him, they had worried that he had forgotten everything – the Pale King hadn’t recognized them. He had _bitten_ them, and he had constricted Hollow’s body so harshly that they had nearly burst!   
Hollow had barely dared to imagine what it all meant. Was their father gone forever? Had Hollow failed so spectacularly that the Radiance had managed to touch the King and erase him? What were they meant to do, with a father who didn’t remember who he was?

But when the Pale King had woken up, he had been exactly the King Hollow remembered. His pale light shining and strong – his demeanor demanding unquestioning respect and obedience. 

Hollow’s relief had been so strong that they had not even thought of feeling ashamed of the emotion. It was comfortable to slip back into what they had been taught. Listen to the King, follow at a precise measured distance unless told not to, protect the King from physical harm.   
It lightened the ache in their body, and it soothed their sickening ragged emotions back into nothingness. They were the Pure Vessel. Ascended. Perfected. 

Except they were older now. They were out of practice. They had grown used to doing things without needing to be prompted. Hornet had expected it of them, Ghost had pestered it out of them, and when the King had struggle to open a door, they had opened it for him. Without an order. 

That was at least ten minutes ago, but Hollow could not stop beating themselves up over it, and then beating themselves up over feeling enough to actually _care_. Their father’s silence made it all the worse – because at some point he would speak, and then what would he say? What would he do? Why couldn’t Hollow stop caring?   
They followed the King out of the storage room, and into Dirtmouth. They were fairly certain that the King had noticed the weakness in their posture, despite how hard they tried to uphold their proud stance. And he had to have noticed that Hollow no longer had their nail – the precious sharpened gift that he’d been entrusted with. 

Hollow was so lost in their thoughts that they nearly jumped when their father suddenly wrapped around them, coiling a quarter of his length around hollow’s torso. They nearly fell, and Hollow realized there was a bug in their path. A threat – something they hadn’t seen – stupid, stupid stupid-…

“Oh, it’s just you.” 

Hollow blinked. Did Ghost just-…? No, this wasn’t Ghost, it was just the bug that looked like them. Harmless. Hollow relaxed, and raised a hand to try and calm their father, before remembering that they were expected to be still and emotionless. 

“Made it back out there after all huh?” The Ghost-lookalike grumbled. What had his name been. Mote? “I didn’t think you would – you look like I could break you in half with just a look! Though I think you picked up some kind of… weird parasite. Typical. Keep it away from me if you don’t want me to cut you down!”

Hollow carefully didn’t react to Mote’s insults towards the King – it wasn’t their place. They were a frozen lake – deep and unfathomable – unflappable. But the Pale King himself-…They discreetly glanced at the pale form of their father as he clung to their upper body. Was he furious? Amused? He had gone completely still, and his toothed head was aimed right at Mote.   
Nobody dared to insult the Pale King, save for the bugs that were too important to replace. Even then, Hollow had quailed every time that Monomon the teacher had scolded their father. Didn’t she know that he could easily tear her apart and fling her remains into a hole in the ground? Didn’t she realise he had an endless supply of other bugs that he could use in place of her? 

“If you want someone to pluck that disgusting thing off you, you should look elsewhere for h-h-hh…help-…” Mote trailed off mid-sentence, and his body jerked in a weird motion. 

Hollow stared. Mote began to stretch out of his slouch, his chitin straightening out with unpleasant-sounding little pops. The bored, disdainful expression melted off his face, and his eyes took on a vapid empty gaze. 

“Ohh.” He murmured. 

Hollow was struck with a sudden recognition. A memory of the castle when it had been vibrant and white, filled with bugs clad in white whose eyes never seemed to see anything. The way they bowed so low their heads nearly touched the ground whenever the King walked past them. How Hollow had never been able to tell them apart – they had simply all been the same.   
Had they always been that way? Or…was this what happened to bugs when they weren’t pure or strong enough for the King’s liking? Hollow closed their eyes. They couldn’t think about it, not right now. It was too much. It raised too many questions and feelings, neither of which they were entitled to have, and there were other more important things at stake. They swallowed their thoughts and ignored the sickly orange burn in their chest. That was better. 

Mote stood in silence. Hollow waited. The King finally moved again, shifting his weight around Hollow’s shoulders. Then Mote’s head tilted as if listening, and he bowed – his head nearly touching the floor as he did so. 

“Of course, your majesty.” Mote murmured, his gritty voice smoothed with respect and deference. “Vessel, our King commands that you bring him to someone that can explain what has happened to Hallownest in his absence, immediately.”

Hollow had no idea where Hornet, Quirrel, and Ghost were. They had no clue whether the Pale King would be satisfied with talking to the old bug, or the fly, or the mapmaker and his wife, but they had been given an order, and they would obey. They would be their father’s perfect vessel, even if that meant their own destruction. 

Hollow began to move, their father’s new servant trailing behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel as if I am the only person that likes Zote. Yes, he is an insufferable egomaniac and he takes credit for all of Ghost's feats, but ultimately he is harmless and pitiful. Now if he had any power to back up his ridiculous world views, it'd be a different story, but thankfully he is just a harmless idiot moron.
> 
> I posted this as soon as I finished it, so some small changes might happen later as I edit the story :) Chapter 3 will feature our favourite angery little jitter bug Void God - Ghost!

**Author's Note:**

> So, I read 'Not too late for second chances' and I have been extremely in love with it. Then I happened to come across a picture on Tumblr where Hollow held both a tiny Radiance and a tiny Pale King, and I got the idea to make this story! I am well aware that the Pale King isn't exactly redeemable, and his choices are far harder to understand, but sometimes even people who don't 'deserve' it get a second chance. Here's hoping our lamprey-idiot can make it work!  
> Warning: Due to the way my creative energy works I will not be updating this regularly.
> 
> (If there's any inconsistencies in the pronouns used for Hollow and Ghost, my apologies. I sometimes slip up! Let me know if there's a he or him in there and I'll fix it up! )  
> Link to the images I mentioned; https://insecuriosity.tumblr.com/post/190327430044/baby-radiance-and-baby-pale-king-i-dunno-i-just


End file.
